


Here In This Place

by Bentrumors



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Gavin Reed is still an asshole, M/M, Service Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-02-22 22:27:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23601352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bentrumors/pseuds/Bentrumors
Summary: Hank is still a little hung up on Connor taking care of him, but for Connor it's all systems happy horny blue.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 4
Kudos: 160





	Here In This Place

Hank jerks awake when Connor’s fingers brush the hair from his face. His arm flails and he’d be sorry for smacking Connor in the chest if he thought it actually hurt him. 

“Fuck,” he says tiredly, “Connor, what--” 

His eyes focus in the dim room and he realizes the soft glow of the television is the only light. Sumo is asleep and drooling on the chew toy tucked under his chin so Connor has already taken him outside. The TV screen brightens briefly and light flickers across the room so Hank can see the kitchen table has been cleared, and under the low hum of the newscaster he can hear the dishwasher running. 

He ignores the little flicker of self-recrimination that still lingers when Connor takes care of him. The last time he questioned Connor’s sense of self and ability to consent, Connor rented his own apartment for three months. They were both fucking miserable until Hank told Connor to pack up his shit and come _home_. 

“Hank,” Connor says low and now he notices Connor is standing before him in nothing but a pair of Hank’s old sweatpants and it’s hard to miss Connor’s erection tenting the worn fabric. 

Hank scrubs a hand over his face and wills himself to sit up. “Okay, what did I miss?” he asks, lifting his arm up. 

He expects Connor to tuck into his side for a handjob, but Connor straddles his lap and tangles his long fingers in Hank’s hair. When he leans in and scrapes blunt teeth across Hank’s jaw to his ear, it ends with a little nip at the lobe that makes Hank’s dick stir. “I made you a sandwich for lunch tomorrow, Hank.” 

“That what got you all worked up?” Hank asks, rolling a pink nipple between his fingers, “Must be a hell of a sandwich.” 

“Hank,” Connor chides, bringing Hank’s other hand up to the neglected nipple so Hank tweaks them both and Connor squirms delightedly in his lap, “I have calculated that there is a seventy-nine percent chance Detective Reed will comment negatively on our domestic status when you bring a prepared meal from home.” 

“Well,” Hank looks up at Connor’s happy horny blue LED, “he’s an asshole.” 

Connor tugs Hank’s hair a little, like he doesn’t already know he’s got Hank’s full attention. Then a little harder because he knows the sharp sting is a direct current straight to Hank’s dick. “There is an eighty-six percent chance he will call me ‘the little woman’ to escalate the situation if we do not immediately engage.” 

“Ah.” Hank tucks his hands in the back of Connor’s sweats and squeezes his round little ass, fingers teasing along his crack. “Should I punch him in the nose then?”

“No, Hank.” Connor unbuttons Hank’s shirt and spreads it open. He tugs the waistband of his sweats down so his dick pops free and rubs it against Hank’s belly. Something about Hank’s flabby chest and gray hair really turns the kid’s crank. 

“When you were not present this afternoon, Detective Reed told me this is where I belong instead of at the precinct.” Connor is watching his dick drag a wet trail of slick across Hank’s skin and Hank is watching a flush of color wash over Connor from cheeks to chest. 

“What’d you say?” Hank asks. 

Connor rocks his hips a little faster, carefully twists the fabric of Hank’s shirt in his fists instead of bruising Hank’s shoulders with his crushing grip. “I said he is correct, but Captain Fowler has requested I remain on duty until his percentage of solved cases increases to an acceptable rate.” 

Hank barks out a surprised laugh. “Bet he took that well.” 

“Detective Reed’s complexion turned a color I could best match to eggplant.”

“You’re a real shit,” Hank says fondly.

“Detective Reed said something similar,” Connor replies with a smirk, “before he said I was only made to spread my legs.” 

Hank wraps a hand around the back of Connor’s neck where it’s suddenly warmer than normal and he knows the heat spreads up into Connor’s scalp. His other hand taps lightly against Connor’s hole and Connor whines into a hard messy kiss, the skin around his puckered rim suddenly slick and loose. Hank knows that if he looks he’ll see a little gaping circle, pink and wet and begging to be stretched wide around his cock. 

“Joke’s on him, huh?” Hank says, slipping a finger inside. 

Connor rolls his hips down, taking it deeper with a greedy moan. “I offered to share a list of recent modifications--oh.” Connor’s movements become a little jerky and uncoordinated when Hank adds a second finger. 

Hank is aching to bury himself in that perfect ass so he nudges Connor off his lap and says, “Take off your pants.” 

Connor strips off his sweats and leaves them in a pile at Hank’s feet. His eyes are riveted on Hank opening his jeans and pulling his cock out. “Ha-ank,” he warbles excitedly. 

“Take it easy before you blow a circuit,” Hank huffs through a chuckle. He tugs Connor back onto his lap and Connor sits on his dick without preamble. 

“Fuck,” Hank swears at the ceiling as wet heat clenches tight around him. “Don’t break it.” 

“I won’t. I like it too much.” Connor lifts his hips, a long slow glide up to the tip before he presses back down until Hank’s dick is deep in his ass again and Connor’s soft walls ripple around him. 

“Good to know,” Hank gasps, so Connor does it again and again, slowly picking up speed until he’s bouncing on Hank’s cock, fucking himself hard as he pleases. 

He kisses Hank’s panting mouth and murmurs, “He said I should know my place, Hank.”

“Christ,” Hank groans. His hips are going to be fucked in the morning, splattered with bruises and he digs his fingers into Connor’s hips, watching the skin dent and darken briefly before it returns to its pristine state. Hank wants to sink his teeth into it. 

“You know it, baby. Tell him to fuck off,” Hank says, slipping a hand between them to jerk Connor off. 

He can feel Connor smile against his throat and his hole is impossibly tighter, milking Hank’s orgasm from him. 

When Hank can feel his damn fingers again, he dumps Connor onto his back on the sofa and spreads his legs open. It takes more effort and his joints protest when he kneels on the floor beside Connor and licks his puffy hole. 

“Ha-ank!” There’s a sharper crackle in Connor’s voice that would be more alarming if he wasn’t holding Hank’s head between his legs and desperately riding his tongue. 

Hank gets a couple of fingers up Connor’s ass and Connor eases his grip. Hank gets his lips around Connor’s cock just as he comes. 

While Connor reboots, Hank drags his arm over his mouth and stumbles to his feet. He peels off his shirt and jeans and goes to the kitchen in his shorts. His back aches and his beard is sticky but the beer is cold and he slumps into a chair at the table while draining half the bottle. 

Connor walks up behind him with their dirty clothes bundled under his arm. “I am going to put these in the laundry and start the shower, Hank.” 

“Hang on,” Hank says tiredly, "I can start my own damn shower." He follows Connor down the hall. “Did you put clean sheets on the bed yet?” 

“Yes, Hank.”


End file.
